To Have Been A Nation
by Jui-Imouto-Chan
Summary: Flowers are so beautiful. But every living thing has some sort of defense, and these thorns carry the burden of reality in them, and Italy is in pain. Who knew such beauty could hurt? Can be read alongside "Sick". Kinda sad and a bit weird (in terms of description and writing), but I'd appreciate it if you give it a shot. -J-


Blue sky, green reeds of grass in the surroundings, as well as miscellaneous flora, and in the distance, whiteness. (Like an unfinished painting, he thought. A partially decorated canvas.)

Feliciano lay amongst the field, giggling gleefully as his friends and he exchanged tales from history and told many jokes.

The others were laughing as well, all of them splayed out and bathed in sunlight.

Oddly enough, there were different flowers surrounding them. Sunflowers for Russia, roses for France, so on and so forth, different hues painting the field so beautifully. It was so beautiful...

Was.

But, suddenly, a bit of the joy was gone.

The ill-spoken of winter overtook Russia once more, and the snow killed the sunflowers, and Russia was buried. Feliciano reached for him, but the blankness that once was in the distance took the other nation.

"Ivan!"

He gazed frantically at the other nations, only to see them all conversing normally. He could see that Japan and China were laying near each other, quietly talking. Then Japan's flowers started taking over China's area, and Cherry Blossoms fluttering in from the tree in Japan's side covered the larger nation's completely. And then China was gone, whiteness filling in the space.

"Y-Yao!"

But suddenly, it didn't appear as if Japan had ever been talking to China. Like he was never there. Instead, he was talking with Germany.

"...Wha... Where...?" Italy muttered, eyes wide.

America and Canada were in a discussion, but halted suddenly, starting to reach towards each other, quiet. It looked as if they were mouthing something to each other, before their areas (poppies and a maple tree) began wilting rapidly, gradually being consumed by the blankness.

"MATTHEW, ALFRED!" Italy cried desperately, sitting up fully. Tears began to sprout at the corners of his eyes.

As he looked around, he could only spot France, Romano, Germany, Prussia, England, Seborga, Spain, and Japan.

England and France were leisurely sharing insults, Romano chiming in from his area occasionally.

But the roses suddenly shot towards England, piercing him in the chest, in retaliation, his freesias wrapped themselves around the French nation's throat, strangling him. Red painted the freesias, and the roses turned a blueish-purplish color, as if to reflect the nation of their section. All flowers allowed their stems to droop, as if mourning, or bowing in shame or prayer.

"FRANCIS! ARTHUR!" Feliciano launched himself towards the two nations' direction, but the flowers set themselves aflame, reflecting the death of his big brother figure's beloved.

"No... no...! I thought... I thought I did it right...! No more! Please!" His breathing was ragged, damn near hyperventilating but his body still taking in oxygen, as if wanting him to only go on until this has all played out. As smoke consumed that part of the field, the blankness erased the evidence of death from his eyes (but not his memory).

He watched as Prussia and Spain paused, like they had noticed that France was gone. The field took their flowers, Prussia's blue and Spain's being red carnations, and wrapped around their bodies, pulling them into the ground. Romano and Germany's eyes widened for but a moment, but they quickly recovered and talked to Seborga and Japan respectively.

"Antonio... Gilbert...!" he called helplessly, voice cracking as the tears finally spilled, dropping onto ground below. His daisies grew a bit more, and the brush of the petals did little to comfort him.

Germany and Japan had papers around them, and had war plans, equations, and miscellaneous demonstrations of intelligence.

He felt conflicted as to who he should go towards. However, he had no need, as his daisies took up a bit more in between the four.

He tried to get their attention, but they would not grant it to him. He couldn't hear his own voice when he opened his mouth-it was echoing in his head on a delay.

Germany and Japan turned their heads towards him, saying something he couldn't understand. He reached his hand out to them, but they simply stood and turned in the opposite direction.

"Why...? Ludwig! Kiku! Come-...Come back...! _Please!_ "

As they disappeared into the white void, their flowers were consumed by his own.

With the last of his hopes with his family, he lunged towards his two brothers.

" _Mi fratelli! Per favore! Ascolta-i fiori_ -" he was cut off by a daisy shoving itself into his mouth, the stems of other ones clutching at his legs.

His brothers simply stood, similar to the two previous, and gazed at him, then turning towards the opposite direction.

The tears that continually streamed from his eyes only fed the flowers that were originally a comfort and a joy.

Soon enough, he felt and saw more types of flora grasping at him, each stem and root from the other nations' sections.

Then, there was a horrid pain, originating in his chest and spreading to the rest of his body, excruciatingly aching as he tried to fight against the plants.

He felt more tears fall, before he felt nothing. Not even the faux sunlight that had suddenly felt frigid.

* * *

 _It was never to have been, he lamented._

 _It would have been to good for him._

 _If only they were real._

 _If only they could be real._

 _Ah, but dreams could never be reality._

 _Of course, nightmare were entirely possible._

 _He could recreate them in art, but it would not be them._

 _They were more than curved and straight lines._

 _More than "creativity"._

 _They were so much to him._

 _But if only they were real._

 _How he longs for them to be real._

 _Oh, how he hates reality._

He has no brothers. (No Francis, no Lovino, no Romeo.) He has no grandfather. (No Romulus) He has no parents. (No Roderich, no Elizaveta.)

He has no strong friends like Alfred, or Ivan, or Ludwig, or Gilbert. No.

He has no level-headed friends like Matthew, or Kiku.

He has no reliable friends like Arthur or Yao.

He has no considerate friends like Antonio.

He has no friends. No family.

He is alone.

That is reality.

And it is not like he'd suddenly have one. He doesn't have the excuse of an "alliance" to be around others anymore.

He only has the life he had before.

And, despite his dreams, he was human.

He would never be strong enough to be a nation.

Especially when alliances would weaken, or when there would be a war, or when another nation fell.

He could never.

He would never.

He was never.

He will never.

 _This is the reality._

* * *

 _"Mi fratelli! Per favore! Ascolta-i fiori_ -" means "My brothers! Please! Listen-the flowers-"

 **Feel free to read this alongside "Sick". This is the idea that Italy either wakes up, having never been a nation, aside from in his dreams, or that he wakes up after the earthquakes and denies his existence and thinks that his friends being "immortal" nations is too good to be true. He thinks that the people in his dreams (the other nations) aren't real and thus creates an apathetic shell of himself, because he feels he doesn't deserve anything if he ends up losing it so easily and being unable to stop anything.**

 **Does that make sense?**

 **Probably not.**

 **Bye-bi~**

 **- _J.I.C._**


End file.
